


Secrets, Secrets, are no Fun (Secrets, Secrets, Hurt Someone)

by SnappleApple11



Series: Secrets, Secrets are no Fun [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Mutual Pining, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Saint, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24463645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnappleApple11/pseuds/SnappleApple11
Summary: In which Bucky’s still getting on his mental feet, so to speak, and his evasiveness brings to light some of Steve’s issues. Moving forward doesn’t always mean letting go, but it does mean loosening your grip.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: Secrets, Secrets are no Fun [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766989
Kudos: 4





	Secrets, Secrets, are no Fun (Secrets, Secrets, Hurt Someone)

**Author's Note:**

> If social distancing has taught me anything, it's that time was not the missing ingredient in the recipe of me writing more. Luckily, here we are anyway!

Steve didn’t know the Soldier like he knew Bucky, but even he knew that something was going on with his friend beyond trauma recovery. 

He wanted to know him, desperately. Wanted to know what happened during the missing decades that transformed his friend to the point where even the way he took his coffee had changed. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Bucky told him over said-coffee one morning. For reasons unknown he was drinking it with the last of some hazelnut flavored cream, the kind Steve had seen Natasha indulge in. Bucky used to take it black, or with sugar when they could get it. 

“Well, can I at least ask what you and Natasha were talking about the other night? It sounded pretty tense.” Steve didn’t think he was supposed to hear any of what they were arguing about in the kitchen that night. Partly because it was in heated, whispered Russian, also because it was 2am, but mostly because of the heavy stare Bucky was leveling at him now. If he hadn’t known Bucky for the first twenty odd years of his life, he would never have been able to catch the imperceptible surprise under the Soldier’s mask. 

“Это ничто,” Bucky told him flatly. His mouth thinned when he realized what language he just used and he corrected himself. “It’s not what you think. You done with the paper yet? I wanna do the puzzle.”

“I know things are probably tense between you two, with your recent history.” Brainwashed or not, Bucky did shoot Natasha twice. And naturally Steve expected that Natasha, not being the sort to trust people easily, probably held a small professional grudge about it. But so far she’d been nothing but civil. Their tolerance of each other was more progress than Steve had honestly hoped for. “If she’s giving you trouble you can always tell me-”

“I said it’s nothing.” It was as much of an answer as Bucky was going to give.

Logically, Steve understood the Soldier’s silence. Illogically, the more Bucky pulled away from him, refusing to talk about even recent events of no consequence, the more Steve needed to know what the hell was going on. 

He said as much to Sam several days later in the gym while holding the punching bag for him. Sam’s reply came in bursts between bouts of contact with the heavy material, the words encouraging, as most of his solutions were. “Maybe he’s scared to open up because he’s worried you’ll judge him?”

Steve felt his eyes bulge in horror at the idea, “I’d never- He knows he can tell me anything!”

“You could tell him something personal about yourself as an icebreaker but you two probably know everything about each other already,” Sam said.

Steve hummed, noncommittal. 

“What about a field trip?”

“A what?”

Sam paused his punches to take a breather and explained, “I mean hanging out outside the Tower, not on a mission. When’s the last time you two did that?” 

“He already runs around outside the Tower on his own,” And disappeared for days at a time, leaving Steve with an ever-growing chasm of fear in his chest that refused to close. “I haven’t seen him in days and FRIDAY lost track of him 2 days ago.”

“He always comes back,” Sam tried to reassure him. “And he always ends up in the kitchen eating us out of everything.”

“I guess.”

Sam clearly wasn’t done with his idea yet though. “Does he like art museums as much as you do?”

That managed to pull a chuckle out of Steve, who handed Sam his water bottle and a towel from the nearby bench. “Hates them. This one time he got dumped and went radio silent for a week so I dragged him to a street gallery to get his head out of his ass.”

“Did it work?”

“Kind of. Every painting there reminded Bucky about love in one way or another and he hated it so much that he wouldn’t shut up about it. ‘This is a mirror of lies Stevie!’ ‘It’s a goddamned toxic feast and we’re the chumps eating it!’ He was loud and wrong but it was better than the sulking.”

Sam considered it, nodding and taking another swig of water. “Well that’s one idea? Y’know, I saw some new art stalls set up outside Central Park. Kind of touristy but we should check them out together. Make sure it’ll get Barnes the right amount of pissed to go on a rant and not a rampage. What do you think, this weekend?”

Steve forced the tension out of his shoulders and the panic out of his eyes at the invite. He knew that things were different nowadays but some habits couldn’t be shaken and some doors needed to stay closed. Flashing the learned, apologetic smile he’d perfected in the news reels he replied, “Maybe some other time.” 

Steve tried not to notice the way Sam hit the bag with less gusto for the rest of the session. 

The idea of bringing Bucky to something that would get him ranting into any form of verbal communication was tempting. Wanting another opinion, he mentioned the idea to Clint later that day in the armory. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a patented Steve Rogers solution. Punch it in the proverbial face until it’s dealt with,” Clint said, examining what Steve assumed was a release mechanism on a new trick arrow. 

“When you say it like that…”

Clint pointed the arrow at Steve in emphasis. “I’m just pointing out a pattern in your problem solving. You like things you can tackle head on even when you’ve got no earthly reason to be the one tackling it: A bully in the schoolyard when you’re asthmatic, a bomb that needs defusing even though you’re not a bomb tech, replacing a ruined birthday cake when we all know you can’t make anything fancier than a boiled potato.”

“That was one time and Wanda thought it was funny too.” 

Clint shrugged in agreement, “But Barnes’ psychological recovery is not one of those things. You can’t tackle the problem for him.”

“I know that. And this isn’t about his recovery. I just want him to talk to me like we used to.”

“That sounds like something very much part of his recovery,” Clint pointed out, screwdriver in hand teasing a mechanical joint experimentally. 

“Fine, we’ll call it an appendix on his recovery. Isn’t that what you did with Nat when she first came in?”

“Nat’s Nat and Barnes is Barnes. Same but different.” At Steve’s continued stare he added, “If Nat didn’t want to share something then she didn’t have to. Everyone’s allowed secrets as long as they’re not hurting anybody.”

That night, his mind running faster than any serum enhancement should’ve been capable of, Steve eventually gave up on the very idea of sleep as a bad job. Sometime around 1am he finally rolled out of bed, threw on some gym clothes, and headed down with every intention of beating the punching bags into exhaustion. Passing by the kitchens on the way to the elevators, he noticed the back wall lit by the open fridge. And in front of that fridge, staring into the fluorescent void, was Bucky. 

His trip to the gym took an immediate backseat to checking on his best friend’s well-being, and Steve made sure to make extra noise announcing his presence in the kitchen. Whether it was noticed was debatable since Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, but Steve dared to break the silence with what he considered a simple question. 

“You’re back. So what’ve you been up to?”

“There’s no syrup,” Bucky replied, eyes still on the fridge. 

That wasn’t the response Steve was expecting. “Why do you need syrup?”

“Pancakes.” A metal thumb gestured to the counter behind him where a takeout box sat, the transparent plastic unassuming and filled with enough flapjacks to feed a small family. Or one super soldier. 

“It’s the middle of the night.”

Bucky turned to look straight at him and said in a voice so dull that Steve knew he was being made fun of, “Yes. And I’m hungry. So I want pancakes.”

“With syrup?”

Even through the combined darkness and artificial lighting Steve caught the unmistakable twinge of Bucky’s eyebrow almost raising in disbelief at Steve’s obvious and unneeded question. 

Steve motioned vaguely to the fridge. “I think Sam puts berries on his? Are there any berries in there?” 

Bucky visibly scrunched his face at that and mumbled something that sounded like ‘condiment thief’ but Steve couldn’t have heard that right. “What was that?”

“Rien.” A stiff pause from Bucky and then, “it’s nothing.” 

Jesus Christ, this conversation was like pulling teeth. Steve remembered in vivid technicolor how talkative Bucky used to be. How he could go on for ages about some girl he’d met for five minutes at the store, or talk Colonel Philips’ ear off to get the Howlies out of doing paperwork, and that getting the guy to shut up was sometimes the real trick. It was times like this Steve really missed that noisy jerk. 

But considering this was the first Steve had seen of Bucky in several days and he hadn’t bolted yet, Steve dared to keep the conversation going. With no idea what to talk about though, he looked around the kitchen in desperation and settled back on the only new thing. “Where’s the takeout from?”

“IHOP.” Bucky didn’t even glance at the box on the counter, instead turning back to the fridge to pull out a jar of jam. 

“You’ve been at IHOP for the last two days?”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.” He turned the jar over in his hands, considering it with the same intensity and blatant displeasure as a suspect in interrogation. Steve distantly thought that look was meant for him, not the innocent jar, which only made him frustrated. 

“Do I get to know where you go when you drop off the grid?”

“Nope.”

Jar still in hand, Bucky shut the fridge, plunging the kitchen into darkness that took Steve’s eyes a moment to adjust to. By the time he had, Bucky had already picked up the box of pancakes from the counter and was walking past him down the hall. He waved Steve off as he left the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it.”

Naturally, Steve was suddenly very worried. But if Bucky wasn’t going to offer answers upfront then Steve would just have to find them some other way. So he took a page out of Natasha’s book and decided to try spy craft. 

Despite what his teammates thought, Steve wasn’t entirely hopeless when it came espionage and the work involved. It wasn’t his preferred method by any stretch, but staking out the second closest IHOP to the Tower later that week he still gave himself a mental pat on the back when Bucky strolled toward the doors with a subdued version of his distinctive ‘murder strut’, as Sam called it. Combined with the hoodie and gloves he wore being a pair Steve recognized, he knew without a doubt it was his friend. 

Bucky came to a stop just outside the doors though to pull out his cell phone. Frowning at the screen, he turned sharply on his heel to head downtown. Steve was quick to follow. 

At first tailing him was almost easy. Super soldier eyesight meant Steve could hang back further than just one block away and still keep an eye on Bucky. His hearing helped him do the same. But Bucky wove through the crowd like a fish through water, his muscled frame somehow shrinking between people and sliding through blockades of passersby unnoticed and unbothered. 

The same couldn’t be said for Steve. He would never fully be used to how big he was with the serum. Somewhere nearer to the front of his mind than was probably healthy, he still thought of himself as being nearly a foot shorter, a lot scrawnier, and more easily forgettable in every physical sense. 

By the time he followed Buck to Chelsea, Steve realized he’d picked up at least two separate tails of his own. Were they teams of people, trading off and picking up the same trail? It made sense to have teams of people following him. The better to keep fresh legs on top of him and keep Steve from noticing the same person for too long. 

Now he really had to stick with Bucky, no matter what. If Steve could just catch up to Bucky, let him know that they were being followed by- Shit. Where was Bucky?

A quick glance around the street and Steve caught sight of his friend walking out of a nondescript bodega in the other direction, a bag in hand and a candy bar in his mouth. When did he have time to buy anything? Had Bucky already figured out there was a tail after them? 

Steve tried to be nonchalant about his own sudden change in direction, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. A new tail emerged from thin air and try as he might, no amount of shrinking his head into his shoulders would make Steve any smaller or less noticeable. 

Partway through Greenwich Village Steve had lost and gained two more teams of followers and subsequently lost and gained sight of Bucky three more times. Each re-sighting of his friend felt like a mercy, and Steve had to remind himself for the umpteenth time that Bucky wasn’t going to be captured by vengeful a HYDRA cell or any other group looking for a leg up in their bloodier dealings. Had to remind himself that Bucky had been freed from the mental shackles that kept him caged for decades and was well on his way to getting back some semblance of mental normalcy. 

The reminders did nothing to calm the frantic musings of his mind. The ones that whispered Bucky would vanish one day and Steve would only find out too late that Bucky had been taken or had left on his own. 

It was as he lost sight of Bucky a fourth time, mind already whirring with plans to call the team and set up a blanket search of the entire borough, that one of the tails managed to sneak up and reach Steve. 

“Mr. Captain America sir? Could we have your autograph?” 

Steve’s mind went blank only a moment before crashing back to awareness of the teenagers in front of him. Taking in their outfits and mannerisms and the distinct lack of concealed weapons he felt his shoulders drop in realization. Not teams of trained operatives or enemy combatants then. Just teenagers who’d caught sight of a celebrity on the street. A second pair he recognized from several blocks earlier followed closely behind, their demeanor and dress the same as the pair in front of him. “Uh, sure thing son. Do you have a pen?”

He signed scraps of paper and took selfies with everyone in the group on autopilot. Several other passersby jumped in for photos too once they realized who he was. Nearly thirty minutes later he managed to extract himself and begin his search for Bucky all over again. Half an hour for someone with Bucky’s training was more than enough time to get away. But then, Steve Rogers wasn’t known for giving up that easy. 

Steve’s search for Bucky’s trail covered most of Greenwich village and part of NoHo by the time he got a call from Sam. “Is there a reason we have three bottles of syrup in the fridge?”

“Besides someone buying them? Probably.”

“Is it a super serum metabolism thing? Do you need to eat a certain number of calories to keep from wasting away?”

Steve thought about it. “Yeah, pretty sure. Why?”

“Just good to know for the next time I cook dinner for us,” Sam told him. 

“Next time?” Steve put his proverbial foot in his mouth by asking, “You’ve never cooked dinner for me?”

“Call it a delayed New Year’s Resolution,” Sam answered smoothly. “How’s this Friday in the Tower kitchen work? I hear getting a reservation is tough but I’ve got an in with the owner. We’ll do breakfast for dinner. French toast, eggs, and bacon. And you can pour as much of your maple syrup on the French toast as you want.”

“Actually, that might be ni- Wait, my syrup? I didn’t buy any syrup?”

“Then why’s your name sharpie’d on the bottle like leftovers in an office fridge?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“They’re not even cold. Did you just buy these? Hang on a sec.” Steve heard the artificial shutter of Sam’s camera phone being used followed by the tapping of his fingers against the screen. Moments later Steve’s phone buzzed in notification. “Is that, or is that not your fancy pants hand writing?”

Steve glanced over the photo, confused because yes, it was his handwriting. But he never labeled his food and hadn’t bought syrup recently. “I didn’t write that.”

“But your handwriting’s neater than everybody’s?”

“Not neater than Bucky’s.” 

There was a lengthy pause from Sam and a mumbled, “Sneaky son of a bitch. Thinks I won’t use it cause it’s yours. So I guess we know where Bucky was today. He was out grocery shopping for himself.” 

Which meant Bucky was already back at the Tower and had even left a clandestine note for Steve to showcase his return. Logically, Steve knew Sam had no idea he was being used as an unwitting third party for Bucky’s pettiness. Illogically, he also knew Sam would get an unintentional kick out of it if he did know, even with the strange sibling-esque rivalry he had with Bucky. 

Steve sighed, unfortunately certain Sam heard the crackling of his breath through their connection. “Sam, I’m actually headed back to the Tower now. Want me to pick up anything from the store?”

“Really? Eggs would be great. Thanks man.”

The walk back to the Tower left Steve plenty of time to think increasingly sour thoughts. With every block they only got more bitter. Bucky knew Steve was following him and instead of meeting Steve halfway and saying literally anything to acknowledge his presence, had purposefully led him on a walkabout through three boroughs before pulling a Houdini. All he’d done was buy a few more bottles of syrup than most people needed in a single shopping trip. Why was that something worth being secret about? And if Bucky was being secretive about a simple grocery trip or a late night argument with Nat, what else was he hiding that he couldn’t tell his best friend? Whatever it was, Steve wasn’t allowed to know. And that hurt something awful. 

Sam and Natasha had commandeered the kitchen table when Steve and the new carton of eggs returned, their coffee and the newspaper spread out in front of them. Natasha opening up a new bottle of indulgent hazelnut creamer for hers and Sam stirring what was probably a single Splenda into his. 

“How was the stroll? There’s more coffee if you want,” Sam asked, voice jovial. His features turned when he saw whatever was on Steve’s face. “You ok?”

Natasha looked at him oddly too, her eyes as piercing as always even on her carefully blank face. 

Steve schooled his features before replying, “Good. It was good. Had to sign a few autographs in Greenwich but I made it out in one piece.”

Steve made the mistake of opening the fridge with the pragmatic intention of putting away the eggs, only to come face to face with the labeled syrup bottle. Curiosity getting the better of him, he picked up the bottle to examine it. Sure enough, Bucky had forged Steve’s handwriting in sharpie, tidy loops and upward slanting ‘t’ and all. Even through the familiarity of the letters, the permanent ink was an equally permanent reminder of how much things had changed. He’d long since learned to stop questioning why Bucky knew some of the stranger skills that appeared in his arsenal of daily tricks, and instead wondered when he learned to do it. 

“Did Bucky really buy three bottles of syrup?” Natasha asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

Sam nodded, “He even signed Steve’s name on one of them. Got his signature right and everything.”

Natasha joined Steve in front of the fridge, plucking the signed bottle from him and looking it over herself. “Not a bad copy. It’s not as good as mine but we all have to start somewhere.”

“As yours?” Steve asked, startled at the revelation. 

She ignored him, “Clint and I are supposed to meet him in the gym later. Do you want me to ask him about this?” 

From the glint in her eye Steve knew her definition of ‘asking’ was of the physical variety, rather than the verbal. “You really don’t have to.”

“Relax, Rogers. I promise to be civil.” Replacing the bottle in the fridge, she returned to her seat and pulled the sports section out from under Sam’s eyes. He shot her a half-hearted ‘hey!’ before rolling his eyes and opening up the finance section instead. 

“Like you were civil the other night when you were arguing in the kitchen?” Steve asked. The air chilled in time with Natasha’s stare and Steve crossed his arms in equal defiance. 

Sam, ever the saint, pulled them both in from the cold. “Angry stares and arguing are how they communicate in Mother Russia, Steve. Actually, maybe Nat and Bucko can bond over this like human beings!” Sam suggested.

“Over what, Russia or forging my signature?”

Nat’s icy glare thawed and she actually looked like she was considering it, to Steve’s mild horror. “It would be smart to have more intel from a source like Barnes.”

“I’d much rather you bonded over something else. How about knife throwing?”

Sam’s face twisted at that. “Or you could bond over something else non-violent like dancing. The history books like to say how Barnes used to ‘cut a rug.’ Is that true Steve?”

“It was more of an enthusiasm thing. What he lacked in actual style he made up for in charm and basic rhythm-keeping. It was more than enough to keep his dance partners happy.” 

“Was he better than you?” Nat asked. 

“A lot of people are better than me,” Steve admitted. 

“I’ll bet Sam’s not.” 

Sam sputtered, “C’mon! First my sports section and now this. That’s uncalled for, Romanoff.”

Natasha shrugged. “Then do something about it.” 

Sam shook his head, a little snide and a little cute, if Steve was being honest. He poured some coffee for himself, black, and settled in a seat of his own to enjoy a moment of peace. 

The next time Steve saw Bucky was during a mission briefing the next day. A previously abandoned AIM facility was back in action, guarded by swarms of security, and according to intel, housing a very destructive bomb-in-the-making.

The plan for diffusing and extracting the bomb read more like a five-person distraction to Natasha’s lead. Bucky and Sam would take out guards on the south side of the building, Wanda and Clint would cover the north side, and Steve would accompany Natasha as back up while she diffused the bomb for transport back to Tony’s lab. Time was of the essence, so the plan was, admittedly, rushed and not as well-thought out as Steve would have liked, but that was no reason for the ensuing debate on whether Steve was the best choice to pair with Natasha inside the building, in Steve’s opinion. 

“Steve, you’re as subtle as a star spangled tank,” Clint told him. “I’ve seen the newsreels and worked with you. That clearly hasn’t changed in 70 years. We need a distraction, yeah, but we don’t need people knowing we’re there right away.” 

“I can do subtle. We did stealth work with the Commandos and you know a lot of the missions I ran with SHIELD too. Buck, back me up on this. Remember that HYDRA base in Greece? The one with the angry goats?” Steve turned to his friend out of habit, but was met with a blank, if slightly confused, stare. 

“See! Barnes agrees with me. Sniper bros stick together,” Clint decided. Steve thought he was misreading Bucky’s confusion, but couldn’t decide if it was deliberate or not. 

Natasha clicked her teeth in disagreement. “The partners work for this mission but he’s still right, Steve. You’re not exactly trained to roll with the punches of undercover work. You remember the mall in DC?”

“Oh come on, this is a different kind of assignment entirely and I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me. Give me a break already.” Several heads snapped to Steve in surprise. 

“You kissed him?” Sam questioned, voice a touch higher than normal.

Bucky’s forehead crinkled as he asked Natasha, “Was he any good?”

Natasha’s mouth pinched flat in answer. That, combined with Bucky shooting Steve an unimpressed look, sent the table’s other occupants into laughter. 

Apparently they had found something to bond over yesterday after all. Ways to mess with Steve. Even if it was at his expense, it was nice to see Bucky and Natasha verbally engaged. As long as Bucky was interacting with the team on a regular basis, Steve figured there was less of a chance he spontaneously left for parts unknown. Small victories. 

The noise eventually died down and Steve squared his shoulders, putting on what the Commandos used to call his ‘fearless leader’ face. “Very funny. Can we get back to the briefing? I’m the best option to go in with Nat for this mission. Let’s finish the extraction plan and suit up.”

Nine hours later, after everyone managed to drag their way back to the quinjet and get airborne, Sam put it best. The mission was a successful shit show. 

Nat and Clint counted it as a success because the bomb in question was diffused and the remaining AIM facility workers were detained. But reaching that success involved an overly-booby-trapped hideout, downed comms, Bucky going missing for twenty terrifying minutes, and the team almost being picked off by smarter-than-usual goons. 

It was those twenty minutes that ate at Steve, because while the rest of the team was focused on regrouping and finishing the mission, he was suddenly back on the train in the Alps watching Bucky plummet into a ravine, back in DC watching the Soldier stare right through him, back in Greenwich the other day watching Bucky knowingly walk away from him. The quip from the mission briefing might as well never have happened. Panic gripped him and Steve went off plan to find Bucky. Because nothing was going to pull his friend away from him ever again. 

Navigating the maze of the facility’s decaying concrete walls he finally found Bucky in a room surrounded by the grotesquely twitching bodies of several goons, looking a little bloodied and worse for wear, but otherwise ok. 

Steve let out the breath he’d been holding since he lost track of Bucky, whose head snapped toward him at the sound. 

“Why aren’t you with Romanoff?” Bucky demanded, wiping excess blood off his knife with his pant leg before sheathing it. Steve startled at the force of Bucky’s voice. Before he could answer, an explosion pulled their attention to the north wing of the building where Clint and Wanda were supposed to be. “This was your plan, hypocrite, so follow it,” Bucky snarled at him, running toward the explosion. 

Once they were back on the quinjet, the bomb diffused and dealt with, Steve hovered needlessly around Bucky, who finally snapped at Steve, demanding to know what the hell his problem was, going off plan. 

Steve stammered, “I was- The comms went down and you were missing. I thought-”

“You thought what?” Bucky demanded, shoving at Steve. He was still fuming and the volume of his voice filled the cavernous belly of the quinjet. “What the hell did you think Steve? Tell me!”

His yelling was enough to egg Steve into shouting too. “You know damn well what I thought Buck! I thought you were taken and gone!”

“Is that what you thought when you followed me to Greenwich yesterday?”

“What if something happened to you? What if you just decided to go off grid again and not come back?”

“Goddamnit Steve! You know me better than that! Do you even trust me?”

Steve was shocked into silence. He had grown too used to the iciness of the Soldier these last weeks, the quiet fury that accompanied his presence. He was silent for too long, and Bucky’s look of sheer betrayal was enough to have Steve aching. 

Bucky ignored him for the rest of the flight. 

Steve ignored the mix of icy stares and concerned looks the others shot his way. 

There was no way Bucky would talk to him now. Steve had driven a giant wedge between himself and his best friend, and he had no goddamned clue what to do about it. So after arriving back at the Tower, Steve made sure the diffused bomb was safely stored, gave Hill the fastest debrief possible, and headed straight for his rooms. A shower, some leftover take-out, and mindlessly halfway through his Netflix queue later, he was sprawled on the couch pretending he could sleep. 

Knock, knock!

Steve frowned, finally noticing the light fighting the window shades for access to the room. It had been dark when they got back to the tower. What time was it now?

Knock, knock, knock! 

“Steve, you up? Come on man, let’s talk this out.” It was Sam. Level-headed, ear to bend, overall great guy, Sam. 

Sam, whose original advice he’d managed to mangle into the very thing he hadn’t wanted. 

His movements off the couch were stiff and unbalanced, his thoughts as he made his way to the door even more so. 

“Hey man,” Sam greeted. Beside him, Clint waved. Another recruit to the Get-Steve’s-head-out-of-his-ass committee, no doubt. 

Steve forced half a grin in reply. He stepped aside to let them in, settling back on the couch as he prepared himself for the what-happened-yesterday and wanna-talk-about-it chat. 

“Hill was impressed with how fast you debriefed yesterday,” Sam started, surprising him. He had to remind himself that heavy talks with Sam never started as expected and that Sam wouldn’t be very good at his day job if they did. “She said you were a model of efficiency.”

“Hill’s all about efficiency,” Steve said. 

Clint added pointedly, “She also said she’d never seen Bucky so keyed up outside of a fight.”

“There it is.”

“I was on the mission too, Steve. I know ‘what’ happened. What we’ve got to figure out now is how it got to that point, and where to go from here. Sound good?” Sam said in what Steve had learned was his ‘counselor voice’. 

“Sam, I don’t need an emotional debrief too…”

“Or we could sit here all day avoiding Barnes and this conversation,” Clint added. “Your call.”

Steve knew it was better to rip off the proverbial bandage, but he also knew he was going to hate every second of it. “Fine. Where do you wanna start?”

“Do you trust him?”

“Of course I trust Bucky.” What kind of a ridiculous question was that?

“What Clint means is; do you trust the guy down the hall? Because the way you’ve been following him around like a rainy cloud says different.” 

“I do. He’s still one of the few people I want on my six,” Steve tried to explain. “But Buck, the guy down hall, he got free from HYDRA and instead of coming to me or coming back home at all he spent 2 years hopping around eastern Europe.”

“Maybe he was trying to get his head straight before coming back,” Clint offered. “Probably running from HYDRA too and didn’t want to drop that on your doorstep. Nat had her own clean-up when she first came in.”

“But then he was back in the ice in Wakanda and ever since he got out of there he’s been avoiding talking to me about anything.” 

“That kind of trauma’s not something you just bring up over coffee,” Sam reminded him. “That’s what professionals are for.”

“I get that, but I can’t even ask him about the way he takes his coffee. Or where he goes when he leaves for days on end.” Steve felt his shoulders sag. “I just want my friend back. I want to be there for him.”

“Being there for him doesn’t mean following him around Greenwich and half the city,” Clint said bluntly. “When he goes on those walkabouts, do you trust him to come back?”

“Honestly. Not always.” 

Sam’s eyes were soft with secondhand hurt and understanding. Clint’s were harder but no less aware of the fearful loss Steve had all but named in just a few words.

Bucky might not have remembered everything about life before HYDRA but together they could still be each other’s anchors to the existence of their old lives. Taking comfort in the fact that they’d happened and there was someone around who still understood and got it. Instead Bucky drew on the memories and skills of the Soldier, which wasn’t so bad if not for the fact that he still didn’t speak to Steve unless spoken to and his responses were more heavily guarded than Fort Knox. To say it left Steve grasping at straws with how to act around Bucky was an understatement. 

“What would help you trust him more?” Sam asked. “For him to talk about the HYDRA years or the ‘Good ol’ days’ with you?” 

“If he wore a GPS tracker?” Clint added. Steve flinched at the notion and from the hardened look on Clint’s face, it both was and wasn’t the right response. 

Steve thought about it, about what everything from the last few days boiled down to, and said slowly, “I want us to talk again. About Brooklyn and what he’s been through, yeah, but really I just want to talk to him about anything. I want him to know that he can come to me if he has a problem with the waffle iron or figuring out what channels are on Tony’s ridiculous cable package. That I’m here for him when something makes him uncomfortable or he has a problem with things happening now.”

“And everything from the years before?”

“Those years already happened,” Steve said, more decisive than he really felt. “They’re not going anywhere. But this, right now? I don’t want to lose any more time with my best friend. We’ve lost too much already.”

“And what if he doesn’t want to share?” Clint’s voice was still hard. Even through his deceptively relaxed posture there was an edge to his words. “Everyone’s allowed to keep things to themselves. If he doesn’t want to talk about the HYDRA years or where he goes when he takes field trips to Chelsea, then he doesn’t have to.”

It was enough to rattle Steve into his own defensiveness but Sam beat him to it with a placating hand between the two of them and a gentler, ultimately more effective, defense. “He’s not gonna put it all out there like some angsty teenager with a Livejournal. And you’re right, he doesn’t have to. But not everything in the guy’s head can be a matter of international security, and talking about even the littlest things can sometimes have big impacts.” 

“So it’s more about the talking then it is what we’re talking about. I get that,” Steve concluded. “But after the last mission Bucky’s probably not going to talk to me for months, if he ever does again.”

Sam nodded, which had Steve grimacing. “At the very least, you can tell him that he doesn’t have to say anything he doesn’t want to but that you’re going to try and be patient while he figures out how to say things. Being patient might be all you can do for now, but it’s a start for both of you to acknowledge it.”

Clint hummed in agreement. “You might even want to bring him syrup or something as an icebreaker apology gift.”

Steve nodded. “Ok. Yeah, I can do that.” Plan established, he stood abruptly to head out the door, only to be pulled back down by a protesting Sam and Clint. 

“Hold up a sec!” – “Where are you going?”

Confused, Steve told them, “To talk with Bucky.”

“Dude, you have to give it a little more time than that,” Sam laughed. 

“He’s right. You guys need at least another day of space to cool off.”

“Says who?” Steve demanded. He didn’t need to wait anymore. He had a plan of action and next steps for re-establishing his friendship with Bucky as soon as possible so they could get back to being friends and not well-trained co-workers. 

“The father of three and the trained counselor, that’s who,” Sam told him. “Can you wait 24 hours before knocking on Bucky’s door? I’ll even set a damn timer for you.”

“What am I supposed to do until then?”

Sam grabbed the remote from between the couch cushions. “Have you finished ‘I Love Lucy’ yet?”

Sandwiched between the two of them on a couch impossibly meant for five, Steve tried to focus on the ridiculous plotlines and comedy on the screen but found his thoughts drifting back to Bucky and just what he would say 23 hours and 45 minutes from now. Sam must have noticed his attention wasn’t on Lucille Ball and poked him in the shoulder, gesturing towards the screen. 

Steve smiled, small but genuine, and refocused as best he could. He couldn’t completely shake the nerves or the need to go-find-Bucky-now, but he could at least relish sitting a little closer to Sam than was strictly necessary, even if there was still a noticeable amount of space between them. He would close that gap eventually. Maybe. But for now, he could only handle closing one emotional chasm at a time.


End file.
